


Hands (Or Lack Thereof)

by buttered_butter



Series: This World isn't meant for claws [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Claustrophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 09:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16060502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_butter/pseuds/buttered_butter
Summary: Honestly, Whirl’s week wasn’t going so well. After the incident with Cyclonus and Tailgate, he had hoped that maybe downing a few drinks would get his metaphorical nerves to calm down. Only some jerk had a grudge… And the damn doors in the Lost Light hadn’t been replaced to be claw friendly.His guns were confiscated. His comm was wonky (something he blamed on sleeping the floor… which he rarely did anyways). And he was trapped… With no way to get out.





	Hands (Or Lack Thereof)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came to be as a result of the Infinite Briefcases discord. A discussion in which Whirl (and other Empurata victims) along with Beastformers struggled with opening doors and with other commodities that are easy to do that bots with hands don't struggle with (Whirl struggles with this in Issue 19 or 20 when the crew landed on Luna 1). Of course, big shout out to the Discord for spawning this, y'all are gonna hurt.
> 
> Not beta read. Any grammatical or tense error is an error on my part.

Whirl’s day was going great. Got kicked out Mirage’s, and stopped from entering Swerve’s by Ten. The jerks. Not to mention Ultra Magnus, Former Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, confiscated his stash of guns. Again.

But no worries. He just needed a bit of time to cool off. Like Rung said. Just a little bit of time off from everyone else, in a quiet place, and everything would be fine and dandy, like one of Swerve’s movies.

“Psst.”

‘Come on, Whirl. Nothing beats actually spending a night in a warm berth surrounded by your broken clocks’

“Hey! Nutjob!”

Ping!

A metal bolt hit his head and landed onto the floor. Whirl bent down and picked it up, pinching it between his claws. The clawed hand shook for a moment before Whirl let out a shaky sigh.

“I ain’t in the mood, so whoever you are, you better hope I don’t find ya. Cause when I do, not even Ratchet will be able to find all the pieces.”

Ping!

Another bolt hit Whirl in the glass of the optic. He blinked.

“You think this is funny!” Whirl turned frantically, searching for the fool who decided to mess with him for the umpteenth time. “Cause I’ll be the one laughing when I put bullets in ya!”

A door slid open, a storage room from what Whirl could remember through his haze of anger tired drunk tired scared. And he ran into it like an idiot. Ready for a fight that would never come.

“Fragger!” Whirl yelled as the door shut behind him. He screeched as he barged forward and hit the door head first. The door wouldn’t open. No automated sensor. ‘Frag.’

A kick to the door made no dent. His claws strained under the pressure he placed on the seam where the door was supposed to open. Reinforced blast door. ‘No.’

Whirl readied his built in weapons systems, before an error came up in his HUD. “No.” _Click click click._ “No no no.”

The emergency release mechanism by the edge of the door was his last resort. He reached for it before he realized they weren’t meant for claws. He’d need at least four fingers for the door’s seal to be released. 

Whirl pulled on it harder. “No no no no.” The metal of the mechanism strained under the pressure of his claws until it gave away. Wires sparked from the hole left on the door. It stayed sealed.

Dread was starting to build as the copter backed away from the storage door. His wings tapped against a shelf- or was it a wall- and Whirl crashed to the floor. He placed his head between his legs, in a position Rung instructed Tailgate to do when the so called bot felt a “panic coming on.”

“Rung! I can comm Rung! Stupid.” The copters arms were shaking, the plating rattling with the tremors. ‘Stop shaking… Whirl. You went against tougher slag than a door.’ The comm link buzzed with static. Followed by a click.

“-llo? Whirl?”

Rung’s voice was loud. Somehow. Over the ringing in his audials that he was sure had just started after he acknowledged he wasn’t gonna be able to open the door on his own.

Pathetic.

“I’m stuck. I- The door.”

“Whirl. Where are you?”

Silence. Crap. What part of the ship was he even on? “I don’t know.” 

“Whirl? You’re cutting out.”

“Rung. I don’t know. I- the door. I can’t open the door!” 

“Whi-KZZT”

“Rung?” The copter wheezed through his vents. Someone knew at least. Someone would find him. “Rung?!” Hopefully.

* * *

The guard at the door had let someone in. Impactor. One of the miners. One of that miner’s friends. And he had come with even more friends.

Whirl didn’t get a chance to yell when they reached for him. Mechs held him down. Fists crushed the glass of his optic, the metal of his poor excuse of a head. He was disoriented for the beginning, but that he could take.

He couldn’t stand the hands tearing his armor from his body. They took turns, peeling away. If one got tired, another took his place.

Impactor was a constant. A punch to the gut, a kick when Whirl had fallen to a kneel, a backhand that knocked him to the ground.

That didn’t stop them. Kicking a downed mech. To them it was hilarious. The pain Whirl was feeling. It was funny to them. 

It hurts.

‘They left me bleeding out in that cell.’

‘Left me broken.’

Whirl remembered. Attempting to put himself back together failed.

‘I was stuck there for who knows how long.’

Claws weren’t meant to build things. That’s why his hands were taken.

And that left him with pain that never went away. Pain that couldn’t be blocked out by a drunken haze or the heat of battle.

* * *

A sliver of light appeared across the floor of the storage room and Whirl scrawled backwards. 

“Whirl.”

The shadow of two horns came across Whirl’s view, and for a moment, Impactor disappeared. 

“Cy…,” Whirl winced, “Sorry bout the mess…”

The horned mech could only nod. “Do you need assistance?”

“Yeah… lemme just.” The copter placed dug his claws into the wall he laid against. His legs trembled as he lifted himself up. Cyclonus waited at the doorway, blocking the light of the hallway from hitting the copter. Whirl’s optic dimmed for a moment, his processor slipping back to that day.

_“Pax… you p-piece of slag.” The energon was beginning to pool underneath his front. Head hurt. Couldn’t even stay conscious for the entire beating, one of his ‘hands’ crushed underneath some mech’s pede._

“Whirl.”

Cyclonus was closer now. Still covered in holes. 

Whirl’s breath hitched. “Room. Just help me get to my room.” The copter reached forward, offered a claw to the purple mech. Whirl couldn’t look up. Still stuck in the memory from so long ago.

“Please…”

Nothing.

A hand hesitated. 

“Cyclonus…”

Two hands. Pulling him forward.

Whirl’s arm was pulled upright and around Cyclonus’ neck.

“Lean your weight against mine.”

‘Always one for action,’ Whirl thought. ‘Never words.’ His claws scraped against purple paint. “Sorry.”

A grunt of acknowledgment. Whirl was going to get that much from the mech. No words of comfort, and he was ok with that. 

Not that they would help anyway.


End file.
